


Karkat Vantas is NOT Going Out with Dave Strider (...Yet)

by Miriage



Series: In Which Dave has Abs, Karkat has a Nice Ass, Jake Wears a Binder, Dirk Has to Socialize, and John Wields the Power of Balloons [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: "The Incident", "The Incident" is where Dave saw Karkat naked, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Denial, First Kiss, Fluff, Humanstuck, Ice bath, Inexperienced Karkat, Insecure Karkat, Insecurity, Karkat Senpai Noticing Dave Kouhai, Karkat's in Denial, M/M, Mentions of Experienced Dave, Mentions of First and Second Date, Mentions of Insecure Dave, Soccer Player Dave, Sports Med, Sweet, XC Runner Karkat, they're not dating, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miriage/pseuds/Miriage
Summary: Your name is Karkat Vantas and no, you are NOT going out with Dave Strider.
Even if you did go on two dates with him.
And have gotten into the habit of eating lunch with him.
And sometimes wait for him outside the locker room after practice.
And text him at midnight.
Nope.
You are NOT going out with that soccer douche weirdo.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another one for this series. Yay!
> 
> (What is my life now. I've been reduced to a nerdddddddddd)

Your name is Karkat Vantas and no, you are NOT going out with Dave Strider.

 

Even if you did go on two dates with him.

 

And have gotten into the habit of eating lunch with him.

 

And sometimes wait for him outside the locker room after practice.

 

And text him at midnight.

 

Nope.

 

You are NOT going out with that soccer douche weirdo.

 

* * *

 

Granted, the first date he kinda owed you (Fucking prick with no sense PERSONAL SPACE) and the second date you kinda owed him.

 

(Rest in peace your shreds of dignity as you accidently pushed Dave’s soda into his lap. May your face never burn that bright again.)

 

Then again, it _was_ Dave’s own fault that his soda ended up all over himself.

 

(The fucking idiot had put his hand on your thigh for crying out loud! Sure, you appreciated how it wasn't the corny-cheesy “yawn and stretch” spiel but seriously why did he have to go for the thigh?)

 

You had apologized and he had given you a shitty ultimatum: Either you give him your own pants right then and there or you take him out for another date.

 

You decided for the latter. (Even though you swore to yourself before meeting up with him that this would be the ONLY date you two would have. Ever)

 

(Because you are NOT INTERESTED dating Dave Strider.)

 

* * *

 

 

The second date was more like the hangouts you would do with John: Drinking coffee (in Dave’s case apple cider) and sitting at the window seat at Starbucks while the two of you observed (COUGH-made fun of-COUGH) people who passed by.

 

(Again, rest in piece the remaining shreds of your dignity as Dave Strider _rapped_ to you the similarities between a man passing by and a potato in a bikini. You tried to choke back a laugh and ended up snorting your black coffee through your nose. Humiliating? Hell yes…)

(But then again…)

 

(Being with him was kinda…. fun you guess.)

 

(But still, you two are NOT dating.)

 

* * *

 

 

As for the eating lunch with him…. well…. _he_ kinda forced that.

 

He had found you in the library (actually studying this time instead of “studying-but-really-trying-to-finish- _Something Borrowed_.” Damn it Darcy, stop being such a cock block and let Rachel have her man!) and had, annoyingly, rested his fucking arms on your head.

 

“Dave no.” You had said.

 

“Dave yes.” He had answered.

 

You had told him to go fuck himself and had given him the middle finger.

 

He had taken it as a cue to take your wrist and pull you up out of your chair. You remember saying something along the lines of “Get your grubby pre-adolescent fingers off my fucking wrist or so help me I will get Egbert to rain a fiery white hell on your life!” before being dragged out of the library. Your strength was mainly in your legs (thanks to running up literal fucking mountains) but you managed to at least get few well-aimed hits in with your free fist before he plunked you in a cafeteria seat next to John. John just smiled and looked at Dave.

 

“Told you he’d be there.” Was all he said to Strider.

 

(Wow, thanks Egbert for throwing the fucking bus on top of you and letting the weight of it crush you like a squished bug. Rest in peace squished bug Karkat Vantas. May the ghost of your ego haunt Egbert’s ass all the way to hell.)

 

So yeah, you’re daily studying sessions during lunch? Currently on hiatus thanks to one idiot who can’t keep his mouth shut (COUGH-Egbert-COUGH) and another idiot who (for some reason) is fawning over your pitiful ass.

 

(Your pitiful ass that is NOT dating his ass.)

 

* * *

 

 

The locker thing well…. Fine, that was more you than Dave.

 

It had been one of those practices that ran late (Oh ha HA! Another fucking running pun! Aren’t you just pile of golden sunshine on a shitty day?) and you had been helping/being forced to clean up vomit that one of the freshmen had splattered on the ground like a crushed tomato (Rest in peace you pitiful freshmen. May your future girlfriend never let you eat Chinese takeout for lunch again.) and by the time you were going to the locker room, everyone was coming out of the locker room.

 

Granted, it wasn’t as late as the time of _the incident_ (You still do a cross between a shudder and an embarrassed groan whenever you think about it) but everyone had basically finished his changing/showering business and the locker room was empty.

 

Everyone except of course for fucking Dave Strider.

 

(But at least he was wearing clothes.)

 

(Well…. At least he was wearing pants)

 

He had looked over at you, his shirt in his hands and his jeans unbuckled so that you could see the top part of his boxers (and no. Your eyes did not “travel”) and had done an infuriating side smirk.

 

“Dude why is it whenever we meet after practice one of us is always indecent?”

 

You would’ve made a witty, sarcastic comment to answer his question (something along the lines of “This is a fucking locker room Dave, someone’s always indecent in here) but your body had already flinched at his comment. He noticed.

 

“Too soon?”

 

“Yes.”  


“Sorry.” Then, quietly (but still loud enough so that you can hear it),

 

“Not sorry.”

 

(Your face had turned a bright shade of red.)

 

You had then marched over to him and had ground your still sneakered foot onto his uncovered one, feeling both triumphant and guilty at the look of pain splayed on his face. You flashed a smirk of your own.

 

He called you a sadist.

 

You had put more pressure on your foot.

 

And ever since then, you two had moved into a pattern of waiting for each other after practice.

 

(And again, you two ARE NOT dating.)

 

* * *

 

 

And finally the midnight texting…That was both of you.

 

It turns out, Dave was just as big as an insomniac as you are: You with late night studying for classes and college (because fuck junior year and fuck the educational system that judges you based on points and tallies. And fuck colleges for wanting not only good grades but also after school activities served up to them on a golden fucking platter) and Dave with whatever the hell he does late at night (you hadn’t asked him yet but you bet that it probably isn’t whatever the fuck classes he’s taking.)

 

(Not like you care which classes he’s taking.)

 

You sometimes regret giving Dave your number because every time you two begin texting each other, it would turn into a battle of which shitty gifs you could find and send faster and who’s wise cracks was better than the other’s.

 

Often times you would send at least fifty messages saying “FUCK OFF I NEED TO STUDY!” and he would retaliate by sending you pictures of yourself with crudely drawn demon horns on your head with the caption “Senpai notice me” written under it,

 

And the next thing you knew two hours had flown by.

 

(You didn’t really mind though. As annoying as it was, it was also kinda…. nice you guess.)

 

(But again, you two AREN’T dating.)

 

* * *

 

So yeah, in conclusion somehow your everyday life has been flipped upside down and inside out thanks to the inclusion of one Dave Strider,

 

(Whom you are not dating and who you have no intention of EVER dating.)

 

(…You think.)

 

* * *

 

On the second to last race of the season and you humiliate yourself.

 

(But what else is new?)

 

You blame the weather. The rain, the mud, or whatever because blaming the forces of nature was easier than blaming yourself.

 

(But you still blame yourself.)

 

The coach directs your ass right to sports med and the nurse (after checking you over) gives you the rundown:

 

You rolled your ankle, your muscles are stiff, you’ve been tying your shoes too tight so now both your big toes are purple and can (at any second) fall off, the back of your heels are raw because you’ve kept on forgetting to buy new socks and the ones you currently own are doing nothing to cover your foot, your shoes are getting too worn and you need to buy new ones or else your going to seriously damage your leg nerves,

 

And, in short, you've been pushing yourself too hard.

 

(And you’re pretty much still covered in mud after falling down on the racecourse.)

 

She puts a hand on your shoulder and suggests that you take a few days off from practice and rest up a little. You shake your head.

 

“I’m fine.” You say.

 

“But-”

 

“ _I’m fine_.” You grit out through clenched teeth.

 

You didn’t mean for it too come out _that_ harsh, but luckily the nurse is one of the few people who knows your “unique quirks” as John calls it.

 

She just sighs.

 

“At least get in the ice bath.” Is all she says.

 

* * *

 

 

The cold water hitting your legs provides some comfort. At least from the pain.

 

Looking at your legs though only makes your gut twist. There are bruises, there’s an uneven tan, there’s scars from bug bites, there’s your big toes (both a sickening shade of purple), and there’s just the weird, thick thigh shape of it all.

 

(In short, you’re a mess.)

You sigh and try to ignore your fucked up legs by thinking about the assignments you have. You’ve never been good at science so you had been sub-consciously procrastinating on studying for your biology test and suddenly-BOOM-

 

Test day is tomorrow.

 

And you’re going to have to cram.

 

You dig your palms into your eyes and let another long sigh escape your lips.

 

(Good luck future Karkat. May you get at least get above a 60% this time. It was a kick to your ego when the last test you got was an even 50%, not even close to passing. How John understood all of this science-shit, despite being a whole fucking year younger than you, is beyond you.)

 

(Then again, you did do better than him on that last English pop-quiz.)

 

Your thoughts are interrupted as someone splashes into the ice bath and soaks the bottom half of your shorts with water. (You make a mental note to kill whoever is in the tub with you.)

 

“Sup.”

 

(You scrap the mental note and instead you groan out loud.)

 

“Of fucking course it would be you.”

 

Dave just smiles. “The one and only.”

 

He presses next to you so that his thigh and your thigh are touching. It’s a bit too much for you but you don’t make a comment on it (because you have come to learn that “personal space” isn’t a word in Dave’s seemingly unlimited arsenal of vocabulary.)

 

“You okay?” He asks. You wince a little because you realize he’s asking you about your race today and (knowing Egbert) he probably knows how badly you fucked up.

 

(And now he’s going to try to comfort you.)

 

You nod stiffly.

 

“Heard you went down hard.” (His hand is on top of yours now.)

 

You nod again.

 

“You sure okay?” (You can hear the concern in his voice.)

 

(You pull your hand out from his.)

 

“Yes I’m fucking fine,” You finally answer. “Now will you please shut up?”

 

He doesn’t saying anything (just grunts in response) and you two lapse into a silence.

 

* * *

 

 

 

After a while, he shifts a little, his pale legs disrupting the ice in the water and you look down at his leg pressed against your own.

 

(He has nice legs you notice.)

 

“You’ve got nice legs.” You say out loud.

 

(Granted, you didn’t realize you had said this until you had let it slip from under your breath.)

 

You ignore the way he looks at you (because you know he’s looking at you and probably smirking) and instead you chose to just continue looking at his legs.

 

(Which are really nice.)

 

(Fuck, what is wrong with you? Karkat from at least two months ago wouldn’t let current Karkat say/think these things. Past Karkat would strangle current Karkat. In fact, current Karkat kinda wishes past Karkat could just strangle him now because current Karkat is apparently too much of an idiot to close his fucking mouth.)

 

(Oh how the mighty have fallen.)

 

(Then again, after you met Dave, a lot of dignity points have been lost.)

 

Dave Strider’s voice breaks through your thoughts again. He only says one word, but it’s said so sincerely you almost do a double take.

 

“Really?”

 

* * *

 

 

You nod.

 

“Yeah.” (You make sure not to look at him.)

 

“Seriously?”

 

(Now he sounds really surprised.)

 

You nod again (A bit more slowly this time.)

 

“…Yeah.” But this time your voice rises a little in the end, as if asking a question.

 

“My _legs_?” Dave asks, as if he can’t believe it. “As in these pale ass things covered in this…. shit?” He lifts a leg out of the ice bath and motions to the bottom half of it.

 

It’s covered in thin white scars, cuts, bug bites, and bruises.

 

(Like yours.)

 

Your eyes widen.

 

* * *

 

 

“How did-?” you begin to ask but he cuts you off.

 

“Soccer. That kid in your grade has a mean slide tackle.” He says, motioning to one of the larger bruises near his calf. It’s about the size of a golf ball.

 

You wince, knowing exactly who _that kid_ is.

 

“Yeah but still-” You begin to say. You pause.

 

(Should you really say anything more? Maybe you shouldn't. After all, it’s not like he can fucking read your mind or some shit so-)

 

“Your legs are um… long and nice and stuff.”

 

(Past Karkat, can you please come and murder present Karkat now? Actually, can _any_ variation of Karkat come and just murder current Karkat now? Current Karkat would like to die please.)

 

Dave doesn’t say anything and you hope that he’ll just forget this whole incident. You hope that this whole incident will be erased from his memories because who in their right mind would talk about _fucking legs for crying out loud?_

 

Instead, he reaches over and takes lifts your chin.

 

“Vantas.”

 

(Now the top part of your body is burning and your bottom half is frozen. You are like a fucked up popsicle. Or a melting popsicle. Or an alien popsicle or a-)

 

Now he’s leaning in.

 

(And oh god _why aren’t you doing anything?!)_

 

And you’re just sitting there and staring.

 

He stops inches from your face and you can feel his breath on your face and you can see that his cheeks are a bit flushed.

 

And now he’s just sitting there too.

 

* * *

 

 

You two keep an awkward eye-to-shade contact for what feels like the longest two minutes of your life. (It’s actually bit disturbing seeing yourself in Dave’s glasses. You wish you could take the damn things off.)

 

You ask if you can take the damn things off.

 

He doesn’t say anything so you ask him again.

 

He still doesn’t say anything.

 

(Wow is that your heartbeat? It’s doing that weird racing thing that only happens after you drink three coffees in the same night.)

 

You’re about to ask him a third time (mirror shade image Karkat is starting to look flushed and embarrassed and it’s unsettling to say the least) when he beats you to it.

 

And by “beating you to it”, you mean he presses his fucking face onto yours.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s unlike how he did it in the locker room during the time of _the incident_ ,

 

No, this time it’s with more pressure. And wetness.

 

His nose hooks next to yours and you are now staring at your own shocked expression (in his damn shades) as he’s kissing you.

 

And, also unlike the first, it goes on for a longer time.

 

You can tell he’s trying to get a reaction out of you as he’s moving his mouth and you can feel his tongue brush against your lips and a horrifying realization flashes through your head that, even though this is your first “official” kiss, this is probably Strider’s hundred thousandth kiss-

 

And _you are probably sucking real badly_.

 

None of your romance novel reading has prepared you on how to kiss. There was no “Dummy’s Guide to Making Out” you could read to prepare you for this moment. No, this was literally a “throw-you-in-the-water-and-hope-you-swim” experience.

 

And you are drowning badly because _you really don’t know what to do._

 

And you think Dave realizes how badly this is going for you because he stops and pulls away.

 

_He fucking pulls away._

 

* * *

 

(You admit that you're a bit sad about this because, as badly as you sucked, you did like the feeling of his lips on yours.)

 

And now he’s looking at you. And mirror-shade image Karkat is all kinds of red.

 

“Sorry.” You say quickly, but Strider is already throwing out a “Sorry” of his own.

 

(Why the fuck he is apologizing you have no idea why) You look at him confused.

 

“I’m sorry I-” You say again but (again) he’s interrupting.

 

“No man I should be-”

 

“I mean I never did something like that-”

 

“Shoulda asked for your permission and shit like a-”

 

“I just panicked-”

 

“Sometimes my hotness leaks out and-”

 

“I fucked up didn’t I-?”

 

“And the magic tunnel of escapism is my damn tongue and-”

 

“I just…Uh…”

 

“And then I’m just all ‘Shit did I just do that’ and then I realize I did and it’s like I’m walking around naked-”

 

“…Um…?”

 

“-In a shitty nightmare and I can’t find my fucking pants and-”

 

“…Strider?”

 

“And then Egbert suddenly shows up and I’m like ‘Dude didn’t think you had these gay dreams’ and he’ll laugh and throw an exploding balloon of cream in my face-”

 

And now you can tell that Dave is embarrassed because his words are tumbling out of his mouth with no filter and his cheeks are that healthy pink tint again.

 

(It’s nice to finally be on the opposite side of embarrassment for once.)

 

He goes on for another minute or so (and you’re actually kinda impressed that he’s managed to keep it up this long without choking on air and that he managed to rhyme “European swimsuit model” with “Why don’t we fuck and coddle?”) when you finally decide to put him out of his misery.

 

You do so by cupping some ice water in your hand and throwing it in his face. He splutters and gasps.

 

“Dude what the hell?!” He yells. You just give him a side smirk.

 

He retaliates by trying to push you into the ice bath.

 

You grab his shirt before you go down.

 

You both end up wet from head to toe as you both topple into the ice bath with a loud, audible _SPLASH._

(Good job you two idiots. There’s no way the nurse didn’t hear you guys make that noise. There’s also a brand new lake pooling around the ice tub now so rest in peace future janitor who has to mop this shit up. Be grateful that it’s just water and not some poor kid’s vomit or something.)

 

You both emerge spluttering, legs and arms awkwardly tangled against each other and bodies frozen (because _fuck_ they weren’t joking when they said “ice bath.”) You’re about to yell out some choice curse words (having again to do with Strider’s lack of personal fucking space) when you look and finally, _finally_ , see Dave Strider’s fucking red eyes.

 

And fuck, now that you can see all of Dave’s face whatever you were about to say has officially died in your mouth.

 

(Died and probably went to curse word hell.)

 

(Or heaven.)

 

You two don’t say anything this time but there’s an unspoken understanding that flashes through the both of you and, against every shitty apology Dave has just a minute ago word vomited out,

 

You two are kissing again.

 

And, as horribly inexperienced and shitty your kissing performance is,

 

You decide to just fuck it and go with it.

 

* * *

 

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas and no, you are not dating your underclassmen Dave Strider.

 

But now, with his lips against yours and your hands tangled in his wet hair and just the overwhelming feeling of _something_ that’s slowly fogging over your brain,

 

You’re starting to wonder why you two aren’t dating.

 

* * *

 

(Your name is Karkat Vantas and shit…. You think you’re starting to like Dave Strider.)

 

(As in like _like_ him.)

 

(Fuck.)

**Author's Note:**

> Soon they will get together. Soon. Very soon.
> 
> Also "The Incident" is the one from "Dave Strider has Abs"
> 
> Also also, the next part of this with Jake and Dirk will come out soon. I think.
> 
> I hope.
> 
> I want a cookie.


End file.
